


Air over lips

by demon_faith



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon_faith/pseuds/demon_faith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'And then the guns stopped.' Missing Scene from Coutrycide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Air over lips

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I see clips from 'Countrycide' used in music videos, I remind myself that Ianto really needs comfort. After eternalwings' vid to Savage Garden's 'To the Moon and Back', I finally actually committed something to Word.

It was too hot and his breaths were getting shorter, quicker. His mouth was so full of dirty cloth and he struggled to take in air around it, his nose clogged with blood and drying tears. _Please, let it be over. Just…over. Easy and quick and gone._

The sack scraped his torn-up cheeks and then it was light, but his eyelids were closed, staying closed; he couldn't face it anymore. He could hear the others breathing, remembered that he was meant to count and check and know, but all he could think of was breathing and how much it hurt just to gasp for air.

BANG!

He jerked at the sound, the man still holding him and seizing his hair tightly. He barely noticed yet another area on fire and just let it all go hazy for a while, as his tired body slumped on the floor and the rain pelted hard against the garage roof, Mam laughing at the fire in delight and Rhiannon hiding behind the sofa from the storm. She was silly – the rain wouldn't hurt her, or the pitchforks from Heaven and he stood at the window, staring out into the bright, darkened night.

And then the guns stopped. The sound was gloopy, like everything was crawling through syrup, but he wasn't listening very hard. There was lots of different breathing though, pained, hurting breathing, and voices, shaking, worried voices.

One was getting closer. It sounded…warm.

"Ianto! Oh God, Ianto."

The floor was softer now and his body remembered lying like this, half-asleep but content and alive and…kissed. But Jack wasn't coming. Jack had left him. Jack didn't care.

"Ianto? Can you hear me, Ianto?"

There was a hand scrabbling at the back of his neck, pulling and prodding until the cloth stopped digging into his bruising skin and grew slack in his mouth. Carefully, it was pulled away and he felt a face come near to his. He flinched.

"Are you awake? Ianto, say something! Owen, I need you here now!"

This was some kind of dream. Perhaps it was Hermes, disguised to mislead him, ready to carry him gently away to Hades. He wouldn't protest, even if Lisa came for him now, but this was a dirty trick – taunting him with this half-remembered sound of a man he could have loved.

His numb hands, so close together, fell apart and his shoulders screamed at the release. Gently, slowly, they were brought to his side and he was cradled in warmth, soothing words rushing past him like the rain.

"It's all right, Ianto, it'll be fine. Just keep breathing and thinking of…coffee. Strong, dark coffee and a little shot of Jamaica. We'll sit in the Hub and we'll laugh about this, huh? Laugh…" It was silent in the sludgy shell and then a quiet mouse voice said, "God, Ianto, please just say something."

There were sounds of busyness all around, people talking and moving and yelling and crying. Yet there was a little bubble around him and it made small, jerky movements every now and again; he felt a drop of rain on his cheek.

Someone else was close. He couldn't help but cringe.

"Easy, Ianto, it's just Tosh. She won't hurt you. I've got you."

"What's wrong with him, Jack?" a woman said. She sounded nothing like Mam, or Rhiannon. She wasn't Lisa.

"I think – God, I *hope* it's just shock. He's just…lying, and trembling."

Silence, slow-moving silence with more of those little hitches in the warmth. This breathing was all wrong, scratchy and caught. That wasn't good breathing.

"Owen's securing the…prisoners and Gwen's all fixed up until we get her to the Hub. I…I think I'll help Owen."

"I need him here."

_That's a strange thing to say. Isn't that strange? He means Owen, because someone's not well. Shock and a bad day, bad things. The lady doesn't understand though. Maybe he means the sick person. Maybe he needs him instead. Would that be good? Where can we find him? How can we help?_

Ianto opened his eyes, one swollen so only a slit remained. Pale shining eyes stared back.

"Jack?" he rasped and he felt Jack's fingers tighten on his arms.

"Ianto," was the breath, the passing of air between too-red lips and something beyond the boundaries of the definable flashing behind his eyes.

"Home now, Jack," he murmured, then closed his eyes. He'd get home. Jack was here. Jack wouldn't leave him. Jack cared.

One day he might even figure out why.


End file.
